


every color illuminates

by stellahibernis



Series: say my name [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, M/M, Other characters mentioned - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 06:01:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2337806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellahibernis/pseuds/stellahibernis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He’s been dreaming about red lips, slender but strong form, a click of heels, confidence matching competence, curling brown hair. And now this dream sometimes gives way to another; he dreams of shorter brown hair, the familiar quiet laughter, hands that know both how to work a sniper rifle and infinite gentleness when taking care of the sick. He dreams of impossibly vibrant blue eyes.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>He’s starting to think it’s possible to love two people at the same time. He also thinks one can only be in love with one person at the time.</i>
</p>
<p>Steve at war. There are some unexpected choices to be made.</p>
            </blockquote>





	every color illuminates

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of the same verse as [you can't choose what stays and what fades away](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2225037) and [looking for a breath of life](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2264658), but can be read stand-alone. Chronologically set before the other two.
> 
> Steve/Bucky is the THING here, Steve/Peggy in the canonical extent.

He looks into Bucky's eyes and it strikes him he doesn't have words to describe their color.

The sun is up, almost as high as it gets this late in the year. It's the day after he freed the prisoners, and they've been making their way back towards the Allied territory. He's relatively confident they're currently safe, and lets the men take a short break to assess injuries and distribute the rations they have between them. They don't have long before they're back to the camp, a few hours at most he estimates, but everybody is tired after battle and walking since the previous night. Not to mention the time they spent as prisoners. He still doesn't feel fatigue, and he idly wonders where the limits of his new body really are. He already made a jump he hadn't thought was possible.

It's only now that he has time to properly look at Bucky. The night before he had just made sure there were no injuries that demanded immediate medical attention (he doesn't even dare to think of other kind of injuries, the invisible ones), and after they met the others he's just tried to make sure everyone gets back and that they aren't surprised by enemy forces. There hasn't been time to concentrate on any single individual, even if that person is his best friend.

Bucky has helped him all the way, introducing him others from the 107th, passing down orders, suggesting people for lookouts and other roles. They work well together, and perhaps it's because of this that everyone obeys orders without protesting, even if there's no official chain of command. Not to mention every single one of them has more combat experience than he does, only they don't know that. It feels natural working with Bucky, even here, but it scares him a bit how willing Bucky is to follow his lead, because he certainly knows how new this all is to him.

Now they're just standing there, a bit away from others and he can't bring any of his doubts or fears to words. He can't find much else to say either, and neither does Bucky, it seems. They just stand there, keeping an eye upon what everyone else is doing, occasionally glancing at each other. And in a way, there's no need to talk. They had already covered the basic news while escaping the Hydra base, and they'll certainly talk more thoroughly later, but the time for that is not now. For now it's enough just to be here together, to catalog what seemed same and what was different about his friend.

And yes, to look at him with these new eyes.

***

After the serum it feels like everything about him is different. The biggest difference is the lack of pain. He only realizes now it's gone that he's been in constant low level (and often considerably more than that) pain for years. Perhaps even always. There are the obvious things, like how he's stronger, faster, bigger, all around just more than he was. But it doesn't end there. Even the way he feels things is different, everything seems more intense. Joy. Anger (he'll have to try and keep a lid on that). Surprise. He knows he can think faster too, his memory is better. And because of all this, secretly, he wonders. Did the serum change literally everything? Is there even a fragment of old Steve left or is he just trying to persuade himself he's still the same person?

In the face of all these changes, how his eyesight had improved hadn't felt like such a big deal. Yes, he can generally see better, which is practical, and the world looks very different since he can see all the colors. Especially red that just pops like nothing he could have imagined. How Peggy's lips looked like right after the serum, when she asked him how he felt, is painted into his memory and he doesn't think anything can erase the image. It's nice but he doesn't think it’s significant.

Blue is a color he's familiar with, has been able to see his whole life. And sure, some blues, especially those that tint towards green in the spectrum, seem different, but it's still nothing too new. Until he stands in that forest and looks at Bucky who always had blue eyes, blue eyes that should be the same as always for him. And of course they are the same familiar eyes but at the same time they're not. He can't decide if it's because there's a new warmth in Bucky's skin, if the contrast makes his eyes look more vibrant. But this is what he knows.

This is Bucky, right in front of him, whom he's known nearly all his life, and he sees him in a completely new way.

***

He’s lying on his bed, for the last time in the foreseeable future. They'll be off to the continent early next morning. He's spent the day making sure everything is ready, that the plans for the attack and the return (and a few backups) are sound, and talking to his team, making sure they're all ready. None of them have second thoughts.

The last thing he did was to make sure his new uniform is in order, checking the mobility and durability. Bucky was there with him, leaning on a table dressed in his new blue coat, joking about his Captain America persona. Everything was so strange; they were in Europe, in a war, surrounded by cutting edge technology they couldn't have imagined even after seeing Howard Stark's flying car. And yet, the way Bucky's easy conversation filled the room, the way he laughed quietly at Steve's annoyed replies to some of his jokes, was familiar. It felt like it did back in Brooklyn, just another Sunday afternoon. It was a glimpse of Bucky from before, like Steve hadn't really seen after pulling him off that table.

Finally he'd been satisfied with everything, including the way his shield rested on his back. It was just the right size to be easily carried there, and it left his arms free for other tasks while being easily at hand in case of emergency. When he'd asked how he looked, Bucky had just hummed, and slipped a compass into his pocket. (“You never had any sense of direction.”) Later in the evening looking at it, he found out there was a photo of Peggy inside the lid.

Lying there, he's not nervous. This is after all what he was meant for, what Captain America was meant for. He has his team, he has his best friend with him, and he has fewer doubts now. He's found a certainty in himself that he'd lacked on the USO tour. He's found certainty, that besides Captain America, he is still Steve as well. Bucky had given him that, calling his name when he was still lying on that table, barely together, and when he'd said he'd follow the kid he knew from Brooklyn.

It was simple really for him. Steve from Brooklyn was still there since Bucky could see him. He didn't need any other assurance.

***

Here's how he hoped it would be, jumping from that plane.

He'd find Bucky unharmed and would bring him back along with everyone else. They'd go on fighting the war, the two of them together, just like they always were. He'd get to know Peggy better. In time the war would be won and they would return home. They'd settle down, find work, and later get married and raise families, still living close to each other. All he wanted was a simple life like that.

What he got was a distorted version of the dream, like something seen through a curved mirror, and everything got further away from what he'd hoped for as time passed. It wasn't the same between him and Bucky, because they were not the same, and the war was a lot stranger than he'd imagined it could be. And even his solace, the dream he summons in the night to find rest, keeps distorting, and he doesn't know how to stop it from happening. He doesn't know if he wants to.

Because since the serum, he's been dreaming about red lips, slender but strong form, a click of heels, confidence matching competence, curling brown hair. And now this dream sometimes gives way to another; he dreams of shorter brown hair, the familiar quiet laughter, hands that know both how to work a sniper rifle and infinite gentleness when taking care of the sick. He dreams of impossibly vibrant blue eyes.

He's starting to think it's possible to love two people at the same time. He also thinks one can only be _in love_ with one person at the time.

***

The missions they have are not easy nor uncomplicated, but nevertheless they get through nearly without any setbacks. They manage to work around difficulties, and no one gets seriously hurt. Sometimes it's just them, sometimes they work with other units; usually running point for them. The Howling Commandos have a very diverse skill set between them, and they get better as time passes. They become a tight knit unit, almost a family. Of course, for him, this is his family, or more specifically his whole remaining family is there by his side, trekking through the forests of Europe.

He's not quite sure what Bucky thinks about the whole Captain America thing. Bucky gets it, gets why he still wanted to dress into a variation of the uniform they had him wear on the tour and the films. There are also moments when he catches Bucky looking at him, and knows exactly what he's thinking. That he shouldn't be here, that this should never have happened. That he should still be in New York, safe. He gets where it all comes from. After all he feels exactly the same way about Bucky, that he shouldn't be here either.

And yet, there's the other side, that they don't talk about, but both are conscious of. If Steve was still in New York, he'd still be the skinny kid with ill-matching attitude and so many health problems that he probably wouldn't see past thirty. And Bucky would never have been pulled off that table. After that, Bucky could have gone home, had he wanted, had Steve not asked for him to stay.

When he reflects these facts, he doesn't think he’s a very good man at all.

***

Most of the time they are in the field, in some part of the continental Europe or other, but occasionally they get to come back to the London headquarters while new missions are planned. It's times like these that Steve notices the divide that exists between officers (and the civilians having somewhat equivalent status) and everyone else. On the field they are one team, he's still one of the Commandos as they've taken to calling themselves, even if the chain of command is always respected. In London he gets separated from them, because that's how things work. There are planning sessions, briefings, dinners, all kinds of things that he needs to attend. He makes a point to be at the bar with his team every night, though, even if it's only for a short time.

There is another kind of divide as well, one that is personal for him, not dictated by custom. In the field it's with Bucky that he discusses everything through, be it strategy or a passing fancy, with Bucky that he sits by the campfire, Bucky whom his eyes follow when he's deep in his thoughts. In London he often gets to spend time with Peggy, whom he still can't quite figure out; sometimes she's still prickly, sometimes definitely fond. He is charmed by her, just as he had been from the moment he saw her.

It should be easy, he thinks, to completely let himself fall for her. Had things gone differently, maybe he would have already. Part of him wants to be swept off his feet, and another part feels that's what he should want but doesn't. Yet another part of him cannot let it happen. There's always part of him resisting, a part whispering that he can never wholly belong to her.

And that's the key isn't it?

***

Yet another Hydra base, yet another battle they win regardless of unexpected situations (it's almost routine now that something they haven't planned for arises and they have to improvise). In the last minutes something explodes right next to him, and he instinctively covers his head with his shield. There's a sting at his lower back, but he doesn't have time to check it before the remaining Hydra soldiers make their last desperate attack. It doesn't take the Commandos long to wrap things up.

It's only after things quiet down that he notices his back actually hurting. He finds that there's quite a large piece of shrapnel jutting out from his back, and he can tell the wound is deep. Then Bucky is there, rifle slung to his shoulder, pushing him to sit down, hands carefully hovering around the metal piece, assessing the damage. It's all very familiar, Bucky taking care of him, although he's never been this badly hurt before, in absolute terms. If this had happened to him before, or if it was one of his team members, he would worry. He's not the same as he was, though, and he knows he'll heal.

"You need to pull it out," he tells Bucky. He'd do it himself, but the angle is difficult, and he'd likely widen the wound. Accelerated healing or not, he'll still prefer to minimize damage. Bucky visibly hesitates, and he adds, "I'll be fine, I won't bleed out. Supersoldier and all that, remember? Can't heal if it's in there, though."

Bucky looks at him for a second longer, and then visibly steels himself and pulls the shrapnel carefully out. Falsworth has already needle and thread out and Dum Dum hands Bucky the bottle of iodine. He sits patiently while Bucky stitches the wound closed and then wraps it with bandages. All the while his friend is quiet and serious, hands steady, just concentrating on his task. He'd give anything to have Bucky talk to him, to half jokingly scold him for taking too many risks, just as he used to all those times in their life before the war.

They start back soon after, and even if he can feel his back, it's no trouble. On the return journey Bucky continues to be quieter than usual, he's definitely shaken about what happened, more so than the wound warrants. Steve resolves to talk to him as soon as possible after they get back.

***

He picks his way through debris in the empty bar that has been bombed since they were last here. Bucky sits at one of the few still intact tables, a half empty bottle of whiskey in front of him. It's taken Steve a while to get away from all the debriefings, and he wonders if Bucky is already so drunk it's not worth having any kind of serious conversation. When he looks up, though, his eyes are clear and voice steady.

He brings another chair to the table and sits down, but can't find words to say. Bucky doesn't say anything either, just hands him the bottle. There are no glasses, and he takes a sip before handing the bottle back. For a while they just drink in silence, and it's new for them. Before the war they used to chatter nearly constantly, but ever since meeting in Europe, these silences have become common. It's not uncomfortable though; it's never uncomfortable really, with Bucky. Not even when there's something hanging between them, something they should talk about, and he doesn't know how to start.

Finally he just says, "Will you help me and take the stitches out? They'll be stuck if I leave them there much longer." He feels like a coward for not tackling whatever there is hanging between them. Whoever said Captain America was brave? With Bucky he doesn't feel like that, though, he's just Steve.

*They have actual doctors here, you know," Bucky says, but gets up and takes the bottle. On their way back to their rooms the silence is gone, they idly talk about things they see on the way, not referring to anything that happened on the battlefield.

It's only when Bucky has set to work on the stitches when he makes his confession. "I don't really like the idea of going to the doctors. They always look at me like they want to figure out what I'm made of, instead of just doing what needs to be done."

Bucky is quiet for a moment. "Yeah. Don't like the idea of them poking around either. Had enough of that."

It stings a bit when Bucky pulls the stitches out, the skin has already had time to start healing around them. It was high time getting rid of them. The wound itself doesn't bother him at all either, it has nearly healed already, even if it's only been a few days. It really is a miracle how Dr. Erskine's serum works in him. He instinctively counts the stitches when they come out, and knows the last one is gone before Bucky puts the scissors down. He doesn't have time to get up though, because suddenly Bucky lays his palms on his skin, on both sides of where the wound used to be, and he freezes.

Bucky's hands are warm, and yet he feels like shivering, but makes himself stay completely still. For a moment they stay like that and then Bucky moves but not away, just leans his forehead to the back of Steve’s shoulder. His fingers curl a little, pressing a bit deeper into the skin.

"It's just an illusion, isn't it?" Bucky asks and Steve can't even start figuring out what he means before he continues,"The feeling of safety. You looked so damn invincible all this time, that I almost forgot you can be taken away from me any moment. And don't even bother telling me otherwise, we both know what I'm saying is true."

Bucky's voice is raw, and this is it, the thing he had wanted to ask about. He turns and catches Bucky's hands in his own and leans their foreheads together.

"You're right, but what can we do about it? We have to keep going, do the best we can, and not let it paralyze us. Just let us live."

Their breaths mingle, and he lets himself be lost in Bucky's blue eyes like he always wanted to, he now can confess it to himself. Here's the moment, this is when he makes his his choice. From now on, even London belongs to Bucky.

***

Sometimes he thinks it's really only in London or the other cities or smaller towns that anything changes. On the surface this is true, because on the field they go about their business just as before. They're just as efficient as they were before, no more distracted, no more protective than before. He doesn't hesitate assigning Bucky the dangerous tasks in the missions any more than he did before, any more than he does with the others. They sit next to each other at campfire, sleep next to each other while they camp, keep a keen eye on each other, but all these things they did before.

And yet, under the surface, everything is different, and he can't help but think that everyone should notice the change. No one ever mentions it, the Commandos behave just as they always have, the group is as tight as ever. Sometimes someone casually says something that could be interpreted in several different ways, but there's never any negative feeling to it. He doesn't pursue the matter, as long as there are no problems he decides to just let things be.

Outside the Commandos no one mentions anything to him or Bucky either. There are only a few people he thinks that even would notice, since it's common knowledge that Captain America and Sergeant Barnes were best friends since childhood, so all closeness gets attributed to that. Most people they regularly interact with don't pay attention to any personal relationships, they're far more interested in war effort. Sometimes he catches Peggy or Howard looking at one or both of them with questioning eyes, but they never ask. Nor do they change their behavior towards them.

When they're in London he still escorts Peggy to places if she asks him to, because it's safer to not change anything, but also because he genuinely likes her, even if it's not in the way that he should, or that she would want to. Truth is he thinks he likes her enough (and she probably likes him enough) that he thinks they would be able to have a happy life together. However, there's Bucky, who in a way isn't even competing with Peggy, he's just there in Steve’s life; always has been, always will be the most important part. And sometimes he thinks that Peggy in a way understands this, understands there's no actual competition. She can never be what Bucky is to him. And on the other hand, he can never have the kind of life with Bucky that he could with her.

He thinks all of these things occasionally, but always pushes them back, because they are not pressing, they are for after the war. Sometimes he thinks about what he has now and what he can have after. Sometimes he thinks he'll be happy to take what he can get. And sometimes it paralyzes him because he probably won't be able to truly follow his heart.

***

There was always an element of physicality in his and Bucky's relationship, starting from when they were young. There were arms slung around shoulders, gentle hip checks, taking care of bumps and bruises. When they were staying overnight at each other's homes when they were young, they sometimes slept in the same bed if it was cold. Sometimes they did this even as adults.

The closeness has continued on the battlefield, has translated into leaning into each other at campfires, sleeping next to each other, casual, grounding touches just before battles, always tending to each other's wounds. None of this is out of the ordinary, since soldiers tended to form close bonds during the war, and physical closeness in many cases relieved stress and helped sleeping better.

Now though, there's another dimension to their physicality; one that only manifests in cities or towns on breaks between missions, behind closed doors. These moments, these nights are so short and yet are etched so deep into his memory that everything else pales next to them, because he is happy in a way he's never been before.

It's always different for them, sometimes frantic and sloppy, sometimes slow and gentle. Sometimes he spends hours mapping Bucky's body with his hands, his lips. He particularly enjoys this since before this kind of prolonged touching had been part of tending wounds. He learns every curve, every bump (there's an uneven rib, memory from a fight when Bucky was nineteen) and every mark on the skin. There are too many new scars, even if they seem to be fading fast. Bucky lets him take his time (he himself is much less patient and doesn't want to just lie there) and just tangles fingers in his hair and looks at him with half closed eyes.

They usually end up lying legs tangled up, Bucky half on top of him, his arms loosely wrapped around him. Bucky's head is always leaning to his chest, and he knows he's listening to his heart, perhaps even now needing to make sure it's beating steadily without falter.

He doesn't think he loves Bucky now any more than he did before the war. Because he couldn't.

***

Missions come one after another, and they see terrible things, do terrible things because they have to, but they win, and win. He's starting to feel invincible, starting to truly think that perhaps the ending of the war is coming nearer. And it's true, every step they take brings them closer to the chance to give the decisive blow. It's also false because they are not invincible, they are not indestructible. And with all that the supersoldier serum gave him, he's still not strong or fast enough.

It's winter and the shadowy depths of the  ravine are blue, just as Bucky's eyes that are too large and terrified when their hands don't quite touch.

***

He makes it back that time, because it's still a mission to be completed, it's still a war, and besides that's what Bucky would tell him to do, to complete their mission. So he does.

Peggy kisses him, and he remembers that if he returns there's still a life waiting for him, a possibility of a future, a chance to have this happiness at least. But it wouldn't be the same, because it would always feel like a piece of him was missing. And he's again at a tipping point, two paths in front of him, just like that night in London.

"This is my choice," he says, and it is the same one.  Perhaps it's the only choice he has ever had.

The last thing he sees is the ice and snow filling his field of vision. It's all blue.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Florence + the Machine song _Spectrum_.
> 
> About 80% of this was written while sick, extremely persistent flu was very annoying. Hence also the bigger gap between the parts. 
> 
> There's one more part to this verse, which was supposed to be like one little Bucky thing about memory and parallels to being a sniper, about a thousand words long. Now we're past 10 000 words... Anyway, last part is set after everything and is told from Bucky's perspective.


End file.
